


Pandora's Box

by Reis_Asher



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Blackouts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Face-Fucking, Involuntary Arousal, M/M, Memory Palace, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Past Rape/Non-con, Recovered Memories, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25144963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Hannibal made Will swallow and forget more than once…
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 115





	Pandora's Box

**Author's Note:**

> The crippling dread of entering a new fandom with dark and problematic content abounds. Please be gentle.
> 
> I haven't finished watching the show yet (I finished Season Two yesterday) but I'm dying to write for it, so I figured I'd write a one-shot that takes place in Season Two.

Will Graham sat in his cell at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, perched on his bed, hands clasped in his lap. His throat felt sore from the body memory of Hannibal shoving a tube down his throat. Could the recovered memory be real? Was _any_ of this real? He remembered so little, and yet had been accused of so much. Encephalitis didn't even _begin_ to explain it all. He had to know what he'd done, and yet he was afraid to recover the memories, all the same. Terrified he might find the image of killing Abigail somewhere in those hidden places, that his own Pandora's Box might be filled with so much evil there would be no hope left behind once it had all been released into the world.

He buried his head in his hands. He tried to recall the creek, but his memory palace wasn't working for him. The image of Hannibal looming over him in a plastic-covered suit with a tube in his hands was vivid and clear, and that tore through the peace of the stream. Reminding Will that Hannibal owned him, and he'd done nothing that wasn't in Hannibal Lecter's master plan.

A taste washed over his tongue, bleach-like and not immediately familiar. He was no stranger to sensory hallucinations, but they'd subsided since he'd been treated. Suddenly, he was standing in the stream, but the water was rising, a storm in full swing. Rain lashed his face like a thousand needles, and wind howled through the trees like a wounded animal moaning in pain. Abigail was gone and Will was alone. He looked to his left and saw Hannibal, a dark shadow with antlers, standing at the side of the river. Watching him drown.

A fork of lightning flashed as it hit the ground, and with it came a rush of images, like a vision delivered unto a blind seer:

_A hand, caressing his face, and_

_tenderly, yet firmly, forcing open his jaw_

_pressing something soft, yet hard, past his lips_

_urging him to take it_

_like a good boy_

Will gasped, trying to reach for a coping mechanism, but all he could hear was Hannibal's voice saying _"Draw me a clock, Will. Draw me a clock, Will."_ The water was above his head, now. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see—

The lightning flashed again.

_the taste of hannibal in his nose, in his mouth_

_distant grunts of pleasure_

_and the thought that if he just bit down_

_he too could become a cannibal_

He started to hyperventilate at the intrusion of this object as he realized it was Hannibal's cock, fucking his face, roughly taking what Hannibal wanted while his carefully manicured hands caressed Will's ear, keeping him calm, steady—an anchor mooring his boat to the dock as the storm washed over it.

Hannibal gasped, and Will felt his dick pulse in his mouth, flooding him with hot semen. He couldn't spit it out, couldn't even swallow. The liquid trickled down his throat and out of the corners of his mouth as Hannibal withdrew. The man carefully, delicately dabbed a handkerchief at the sides of Will's mouth like he'd spilled his soup and then clicked his fingers—

Will snapped his eyes open to find himself back in his cell, gasping for oxygen. Distant footsteps grew fainter, and Will swallowed, the taste as fresh as the moment Hannibal had let loose his orgasm. Except there was no hand on his face to comfort and steady him, now. No handkerchief to clean him up. Nothing in his mouth except the absence of saliva and nothing around him but deep, empty solitude, with a raging erection that brought nothing but shame and self-loathing with it.

There was no chance Hannibal had just been here, but it felt like he was always inside Will. It would blow his cover as a respectable psychiatrist if he was caught forcing himself on a patient. There was no moment in this cell that wasn't recorded, and Hannibal couldn't induce seizures at will any more. Will tried to cling to the facts. The evidence was all he had left, and the evidence told him this had happened in the past.

Problem was, part of him wanted it to be happening in the present.


End file.
